


If There Is Such a Thing.

by SIX_Calavera



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daredevil (TV) - Freeform, Drama, F/M, First person wesley, James Wesley - Freeform, One-Shot, Reader Insert, Romance, Smut, Spoilers, Wesley - Freeform, Wesley POV, tradgedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SIX_Calavera/pseuds/SIX_Calavera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was one thing and that was all I needed. I had one job and that was all I wanted. I thought I was complete, with nothing more to figure out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If There Is Such a Thing.

Fisk had once spoken with me about how he had felt like he was complete.

How he knew he didn't need anyone else to help better understand himself.

He knew who he was, he knew his own purpose and had all that was necessary. There was nothing that was lacking.

Until he met her.

Until she was almost ripped from his grasp and she was lying on a hospital bed fighting just to keep breathing. Leaving Fisk unsure if she'd ever open her eyes again.

I had felt the same way as he did- before  _ her,  _ that is. All I had was my job and I felt I was complete. I took pride and comfort in my position at Fisk’s side, as his right hand man. I took my responsibility as his confidant, bodyguard, and at times his proxy, with extreme seriousness and I let it define me.

That was how I lived. That was who I was and...I loved it. The sense of purpose and drive, so simple, and easy to hold on to.

That was all I needed. I had all that was necessary for living. There was want for nothing.

Or so I thought.

Now I found myself in the same position as Fisk, and the even more jarring position of wondering how my way of living would change without her.

I stare into her still face and I realize that if she dies...I will lose a part of myself I never thought existed.

Perhaps it didn't exist. She herself had coaxed it into the being with a soft smile and a coy laugh. A bit of...light. 

Though, thinking back on it now, I must admit that when Fisk had first introduced her to me I had thought her brash and severely lacking in discipline. But I was to be working alongside her and so I kept my reservations to myself. Hiding them behind a simple nod and a ‘Yes, sir.’

I observed the way she operated and it was easy to see that despite her reckless nature, when push came to shove, she was intensely concentrated and fiercely loyal.

She knew what she was doing and always did her best to do it correctly the first time. She took pride in her work...and in her sense duty and atop all of that- she was horribly stubborn. 

I grew to respect her, to admire her. I had come to see that we had much in common--besides that infuriatingly sly sense of humor that belongs to her only--though I'd never share that with her.

Her carefree attitude and jokes at my own expense began to grow on me, rather than wear on me. I found her blunt way of speaking endearing and refreshing. I hate to admit that I found myself grinning and chuckling more often than not at her quips.

Fisk smiles when we report in together. Seeing the way she interacts with me amuses him and he tells us we work well together. We're effective and an essential team, he says.

I could never tell if she was legitimately attracted to me or was just having fun torturing me. She teased me whenever she had the chance. At first I refused to play along. Even though my coldness only seemed to amuse her further, I was determined to try and keep a professional attitude when I was with her. As much as I could with her gibes.

Yes, we get the job done. But she would tease and flirt throughout it all and alI I could do was pinch the bridge of my nose and nudge at my glasses. And then she’d cut a man down and bat her lashes at me...coaxing something atavistic from me that I hadn't had any need for. It was almost comedic.

I'd open the door for her, and I'd feel her hand trailing down my back.... We'd be interrogating someone and I’d feel her leaning against my shoulder.... We'd be alone in the office and she'd take the time to grip my tie...pull me away from my work and plant a coy kiss on my cheek.

“You work too hard, Wesley.” She'd purr.

I'd simply roll my eyes at her.

I'd try to reprimand her, “Stay focused.” I'd warn during assignments. But she'd laugh as she walk away.

If only she knew how deeply embedded she had become in my mind. Every touch, and every word was no longer distracting and light hearted to me.

No...they were absolutely infuriating. Heavy handed, and leaving invisible bruises on my skin.

I wanted her. I had never wanted for anything working for Fisk but now...unknowingly he had hired the very thing I had never thought missing. 

It was now...torture, having her tease me. But having been so strict with myself I found it impossible to break the mold. I couldn't touch her. I wouldn't. To let her in would feel like defeat, it was our game that we played.

Until a deal went badly. And she had taken the blow that was meant for me. Suddenly it wasn't a game anymore.

For the first time, I took her into my arms and her blood soaked through the layers of my suit. I felt the warmth leaving her body and soaking my own. 

I couldn't take her to a hospital this time, there would be too many questions. She isn't supposed to exist. I had to bring her back to our base of operations and find someone to treat her there.

I drive quickly. Eyes flicking between the road and the mirror angled towards her in the back seat.

She's conscious. And still smiling that damnable smile at me.

“What's wrong Wesley...? You're looking a little pale.” She gives a feeble attempt at a nervous chuckle. But instead she nearly keels over, gripping at the bloody shirt covering her bleeding stomach, groaning in pain.

She doesn't know it but her joking in the face of death reassures me. I tell her not speak...that we'll be there soon.

We reach the office. I get her to a seat at the table in the apartment. Fisk isn't here, this office is only used for important meetings. In fact, he owns this entire building. 

I keep a calm demeanor as I gather the supplies I need. And she is undressing in the next room. Removing unnecessary clothing from the neck down, revealing her most serious wound. She throws her shirt to the side and hops up on the table.

One entry wound from a knife on her side. Missing any major internal organs. But bleeding profusely. I'll have to tend to that one first.

And a laceration on her leg. Upper thigh area. Same knife, cut right through the pocket of her jeans. Not bleeding nearly as much as the one on her stomach. Some stitches and antiseptic should be all it needs.

I'll handle this myself.

She looks at me with a guilty look on her face.

“Sorry...” she says “...should've seen that guy coming.” she winces when she laughs. 

 I tell her she couldn't have seen such a thing coming. “It could have been much worse, we were fortunate.” I tell her.

I sit before her and begin cleaning the wound on her stomach. She hisses and grabs my hand. 

She looks down at me and asks me to be gentle...

“I will be.” I assure her.

My hands shake and I must steady my breathing before continuing.

Finally I grab a thread and needle.

“Now, this is going to hurt.” I tell her plainly.

“Do it.” she says. Sucking in a large breath of air.

It's...cute, her nervousness towards pain. Such a tough exterior yet squeamish towards needles.  

I push the needle in and out of her flesh, crosshatching the thread. Her abdomen is rigid as she tries to keep still. I tie off the stitch and place a bandage above the wound. Securing it place by pressing it firmly against her.

Finished, she stands up in front of me and prods at her bandage. Double checking the adhesive.

She exhales shakily, gives me a humble look and says “Thanks.... Now for the fun one.”

Quickly she unbuttons her jeans and takes them off. Exhaling gratefully when her leg wound is finally able to breathe.

She takes a seat on the table top again, two garments away from being completely naked before my eyes.

I have no way of knowing if my rapidly beating heart is forcing me to betray my attempt at a steely stare.

I stare at her a split second too long and she smirks at me.

“Stay focused.” she teases. Mimicking my own deadpan tone.

I sigh, ignoring her, and without another word I take my seat and begin to treat her leg. My hands nervously, accidentally caressing her as I try to steady her leg and clean her cut.

She is torturing me. And she knows it. This is just another opportunity for her to tempt me, I'm sure of it. I honestly wouldn't put it past her, she is capable of that much determination.

I try to continue breathing steadily. But it's impossible to keep the harder puffs of air from escaping my lips.

I finish cleaning her wound and I know she can feel my hot breath on the sensitive skin of her thighs. They twitch every now and then and I assume it's because I'm hurting her.

“Sorry.” I say.

“It's alright...” her voice is light and breathy. She's staring right at me, I can feel her eyes burning right into me. Her face is flushed and her breathing is louder in my ears.

I swallow deeply and finish the stitches.

I press a bandage firmly against her thigh and before my hands leave her I feel her running her fingers through my hair...cupping my chin. Her sudden touch stills me. As if her fingers turned me to ice.

She guides my gaze to her face. My mask, slipped and gone. With wide eyes I stare at her. 

Under her eye's scrutiny I wonder, what will she do with me next?

“You saved my life, Wesley. And patched me up. You know what I'm going to say next aren't you?”

“No...” I say. My brows knitting together.

Now she's the one rolling her eyes at me.

She raises a playful brow at me, “Oldest line in the book, of course. ‘How will I ever repay you...?’”

She leans downward before I can come up with a response and catches my lips in hers. She aims to pull back after a quick kiss but...she seems to have changed her mind.

Instead she hangs there...as if she can't decide and I feel caught in the seemingly immense grip of her gentle hand at my cheek and her soft lips still so close to my own.

I can't stop myself...not this time. She is so close, and I can no longer stand her games. Her warm body- so inviting, her soft skin- magnetic.

I want her. Right now I need her. She's won, and I've been successfully ensnared. I raise my head ever so slightly, closing the gaps between us and I can feel her wry smile. 

I move to stand up, my lips never leaving hers and push against her. Situating myself between her legs, she moans into my mouth as I deepen the kiss. I place my hands on either side of her and she wraps her legs around me, her arms move to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me close and hissing as it strains on her wounds.

But I don't care that it hurts her. All I care about is feeling her around me. Hearing the moans that come after her whimpers of pain. 

My nose grazes her cheek as I move to bury myself against the crook of her neck. I kiss the sensitive pulse point below her ear and she moans my name.

God. I need her.

The pain in my gut is sublime, and I imagine hers is as well. I take this opportunity to finally dish out some of my own torture.

She grinds against me. Begging me to end her delicious suffering quickly. But I want to drag this moment out as far as I possibly can.

Her hands claw at my back. I push her down flat on the table. Lifting her arms above her head.

She cries out in pain. I am stretching the stitches on her stomach. But I don't care. 

 I kiss her...her neck...her chest...her stomach, making my way down.

“Wesley...” she moans. Squirming underneath me.

I breathe hotly on the vertex of her thighs and she begs for me.

God. I need her.

I take off that thin piece of clothing in one fluid motion and drink her in. She moans loudly. My tongue forcing incoherent mewls of pleasure from her mouth.

“Don't stop.” she says. She tells me she’s close. Once again she runs her fingers through my hair and I hum into her.

Crying out again. But as soon as I sense her coming close to the edge I stop.

And she groans at me.

“Damnit, Wesley. Stop teasing me.”

I smile at her flushed face. Strands of hair beginning to stick to her face as her body begins to sweat. I push my glasses further up the ridge of my nose.

“Payback.” I say simply.

She sits up with a defeated look on her face. “I suppose you deserve it.” she says as she begins playing with the buttons of my shirt, unbuttoning them slowly.

I wrap my hand around her throat, forcing her gaze upward and kiss her deeply. She runs her hands over my chest gripping at the fabric of my shirt. I feel her hands slip lower and lower until her hands dip into my trousers and curl around me. 

My hips jerk forward and I groan loudly.

I feel her smile “I could get used to hearing that...” she grins. 

Her hand grips me and begins to move in a steady rhythm. My breathing is erratic and rapid. I moan into her neck.

Damnit. I couldn't out tease her even when I had the upper hand. She's in control again and...good god...I need her.

I throw off my coat, not caring where it falls. I take a seat on the chair behind me. Bringing her with me, she sits on my lap. I let her take point...there will be less strain on her wounded body this way.

I pull her tight and slide her along my rigidness.

I glance down and I can see how wet she is...she looks into my eyes and says...

”I need you.”

She pulls me into position and my eyes clamp shut. I feel her warmth engulfing me as she lowers herself.

My mouth opening into a silent moan.

Finally. Finally she's mine.

Finally she frees me of the hell she put me in. My fingers dig into her warm skin and her nails dig into my shoulders as she moves quickly. As desperate for release as I am.

Finally I say her name.

...

 

Working together was never the same since that night. It was far more exciting to say the least. 

Apparently it seemed as though I had ‘Gotten the stick out of my ass.’ 

Her words, of course, she was always prone to more colorful language. Though I suppose I wouldn't disagree.

But her getting injured was different now as well. I felt I truly had something to lose. If only I had known how bad things would get. I never would have gotten close to her.

I don't know how to treat gunshot wounds. It is glaringly obvious it is not the same as a wound left by a knife. Especially if the bullet has penetrated a cranium and not a fleshy part of the abdomen.

Fisk, of course, reassures me. He believes she will be ok. And the doctors tell me there is a chance she will wake up.

But I don't know...for now it seems the only thing I can take refuge in is the fact that the men who did this are currently laying face down in the gutter, choking on their own blood.

I stare at her sleeping face and there is no denying it any longer. God...I hate how much I need her. More so the fact that...I see now that she needs me. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a rush job, it was all so sudden but I hope some enjoiyment is gotten out of it. Now back to binge watching Daredevil for the second time while I wait for season 2.


End file.
